Sing for Absolution
by Aria34
Summary: Anita Montgomery- SHIELD Agent, one of 'Coulson's Kids', is called back from a mission for one very important reason- Captain America is about to wake up. Her new job is to be his 'Go-to girl' as he and SHIELD learn to work together.


**I don't own Avengers or anything Marvel related!**

* * *

 **Salzburg, Austria**

 **Three Weeks Ago**

Anita watched the well-dressed man and his army of body guards over the rim of her martini glass. Every vein in her body burned with a sudden rush of adrenaline. All her instincts screamed one thing, _GRAB THE WEAPON_. But she took a deep breath to focus her mind on her mission. She was here for one thing, and one thing only- to monitor the sale of a highly valuable weapon by Ulysses Klaue's man to an unknown party. S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence indicated that the buyer was HYDRA- but until she had an ID on the buyer, there was no way to be certain.

Klaue's representative- Santana Amari, stood tall at the center of his own personal army. He was dressed impeccably. Tailored Tom Ford tuxedo with polished black oxfords and slicked back hair. A bit too refined for Anita's tastes, but still quite good looking. If she didn't know the kind of man he was, she might have been attracted to him. The effect was only slightly tarnished by the silver briefcase handcuffed to Amari's wrist. Klaue may be reckless, but he wasn't the type of man to risk his weapons in the hands of anyone but his most trusted men. Clearly Amari was that man tonight.

The guards around Amari were nothing to scoff at either, broad, built and absolutely deadly. More her type, if she was being honest with herself.

Anita turned back to the bar, setting down her martini glass as she pulled out her phone and scrolled through a document. She briefly pausing on an INTERPOL photograph of Amari from eight years ago. It was the most recent photo anyone in the intelligence community had of the man. She made a quick note to get a clear shot of Amari before she left. The rest of the document listed his various aliases and allies. Her eyes narrowed in on one specific name, the one she was expecting to see here tonight- Cordelia Grayson.

Anita slid her phone back in her clutch as she rolled her eyes at the name, Cordelia Grayson. God, it even _sounded_ expensive. A perfect reflection of the woman herself.

Sitwell and Fury hadn't been certain that Grayson was the buyer- but Anita and Coulson were almost positive. Grayson was deadly, and the weapon was more dangerous in her hands than in Klaue's. That was the only reason Anita had been sent to Austria- find the seller, find the buyer, get an ID. _Then get the hell out._

 _This is only recon_ , she reminded herself as she leaned against the bar and made eyes as an middle-aged gentleman whose gaze had been burning a hole into her back. Or more accurately, her ass.

The longer she was alone at the bar, the more she stood out. And here, attention could be deadly. As one of the only dateless, young women at the fundraiser, she'd already felt a few curious glances. Most likely people wondering who she was, and more importantly, how wealthy she was to have gotten in to the party without having to decorate the arm of a rich, old man.

She placed her empty glass down as he approached and looked him head to toe with an appraising eye. Yes, he'd make a perfect floater- he was just rich enough, just attractive enough that next to him, she'd look like nothing more than a common gold-digger. And no one paid any attention to the gold-diggers at events like this.

He leaned against the bar beside her and tilted his head at the bartender, quickly summoning two fresh drinks for them. A martini for her (she hated martinis- but image was everything here) and a bourbon for him. The brush of grey at his temples gave him a scholarly air- rather like an older version of Indiana Jones. But Anita knew, in just one glance, that he was no more a scholar than she was a belly dancer. The Patek Philippe timepiece glinting at his wrist only made it more obvious- he was no professor.

Hedge fund manager?

Politician?

Black-market dealer?

All the above?

Anything was possible.

"So," he began, smiling wryly- knowing his pickup line would be absolute trash and that it wouldn't matter to a gold-digger like her. "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Anita raised an eyebrow and smirked at him, "Your first mistake is thinking I'm a good girl."

"Ah, yes." His smile widened as he nodded, "Good girls go to heaven-"

"And bad girls go everywhere." She finished, tilting her head to sip her drink. A quick glance to her left conformed that Amari had moved to the edge of the ballroom. She needed to get him back in her line of sight.

"Alright, Miss Bad Girl," the man leaned close enough for her to smell the whiskey on his breath, "where do you want to go?"

"Mother always told me I shouldn't go anywhere with strange men." She leaned in to him and placed her glass back on the granite bar. Her lips against his ear, "But I _never_ listen to Mother."

She felt him grin against her neck as his arm slid around her waist. One quick turn had her pressed against the bar, back against the cold counter.

Much better.

From this angle, she could see Amari perfectly. And, she could see the platinum blonde who had just entered.

 _Bingo_.

Cordelia Grayson, in the flesh, wearing a very expensive crimson gown. She looked every inch the ice queen Anita's intel had described. Tall, stunning and _filthy rich_.

Anita's mystery man had been saying something, no doubt something he thought was very witty and suave. She held in an impatient sign and tuned back into his voice, catching his last sentence.

"-what's my second mistake then?" His hips pressed against hers suggestively. She flashed her eyes at him, playing her role to perfection. Gold-diggers were supposed to be easy. He was probably used to this- one drink, a little flirting, and girls like her would get on their knees for him. He was less interested in what Anita had to say than she was in him- if that was even possible. She felt him against her belly, rapidly hardening as he caged her against the bar. No doubt he was seconds away from suggesting that they go 'to a more private location' so they could 'get acquainted'. But mainly so _she_ could get acquainted with his dick.

She slung her arms around his neck and maneuvered her wrist into position. It was a genius little piece of S.H.I.E.L.D. tech- a beautiful watch that could record everything with one well-placed tap. Perfect for situations like this. She gave the face of her watch a quick tap and turned on the minuscule recording device. Hopefully she was in the right position to clearly capture Cordelia and Amari's exchange. The video was being streamed directly to SHIELD, halfway across the world; with Coulson watching to confirm their suspicion on who the buyer was. If everything went according to plan, Coulson would be calling momentarily.

"Waiting this long to buy me a drink" Anita leaned forward with a smirk and kissed the man lightly, pulling away when her phone began vibrating in her tiny clutch bag. Coulson always had perfect timing.

She unwrapped her arms from his neck and pushed him away with her free palm at his chest.

Shrugging, she slid her phone out and glanced at the screen, 'Daddy'.

"Sorry, gotta take this one." She stepped out of his earshot and answered the call.

"Anita, we got it." Coulson sounded pleased. "We'll put a tail on Grayson. And it wouldn't hurt it you could get a little closer to them- we might be able to grab some of their conversation."

Anita laughed softly into the phone, "Yeah, gotta go- _Daddy_." She rolled her eyes at his huff of laughter and waited until he hung up. She'd saved Coulson's number under 'Daddy' nearly 8 years ago, when she had been posing as an escort to take out a sex-trafficker. Ever since then, the joke had stuck around and come in handy frequently- especially at events like this where she assumed the guise of a gold-digger.

Keeping the phone pressed to her chest, as if she was still on the call, she covered the short distance to her floater who had turned back to the party, eyes searching for a new target. His interest in her had clearly waned the moment he saw the word 'Daddy' pop up on on Anita's phone and realized she was 'taken'.

"Gotta run," she winked coyly and turned away. "Daddy gets very impatient."

He shot her a distracted half smile and a quick nod before turning back to the bartender for another bourbon.

Anita glanced at her phone, turning the camera to video mode, then put the phone back to her ear- giggling as if she was still talking to her sugar-daddy. She took the long way out of the ballroom, looping around Santana Amari and Mrs. Grayson, getting as close as she dared, all the while mouthing flirty nothings into the phone. For anyone watching from a few feet a way, it was a convincing display- convincing enough that Amari's men completely ignored the ditzy brunette in the backless black gown. She would have felt safer if she was whispering into the phone rather than faking it, but the logical part of her brain told her the risk was worth it. They were hoping to hear some conversation between Amari and the buyer- her voice would only make it harder to hear them.

From the entrance to the ballroom, she glanced back and took a quick stock of everyone- making sure no one was still watching her. Santana Amari's army moved toward the bar as Cordelia Grayson's private bodyguards ushered her to the back exit. A silver gleam at Grayson's wrist told Anita that the exchange had been made- an exorbitant wire transfer would have been sent the moment the package changed hands.

Now they had a woman and a money trail to follow.

She turned to make a quick exit. She dropped her token into the valet's outstretched palm and waited a few short moments for her car to be brought around. The quiet purr of the '61 Jaguar F-Type caught her attention as the valet rounded the corner. This was her favorite part of the night- driving away in a fancy car.

After all, appearances had to be maintained.

As she slid into the sleek vehicle, Coulson called again. Frowning she picked up. This wasn't part of the plan. He was supposed to wait until she called him from a random, untraceable location.

"You need to get back to New York," Coulson's voice sounded odd - excited? "Right now. _He's waking up_."

* * *

 **New York City, USA**

 **SHIELD Headquarters**

 **Present Day**

The second she landed in New York, Coulson picked her up and drove them straight to the SHIELD headquarters. He ushered her into an empty office and thrust a dry-cleaner bag into her hands.

"Wow, you got me an…. itchy skirt and starched blouse." She said dryly as she looked at the outfit. "You shouldn't have."

"We don't have much time," Phil hurried her. He averted his eyes as she began unbuttoning her shirt.

Nothing about undressing in front of Phil was even remotely sexual. She'd known him for far too long, looked up to him like an older brother of sorts. Phil was the one who'd poached her from the FBI academy, years ago, and trained her to become who she was now.

She slung her shirt over the back of a chair and pulled the new one on.

"Ah, sorry," Phil pulled the skirt off its hanger and held it out to her, making a face at the texture of the rough wool. "This was the best we could do at moment's notice."

"And this is my… halloween costume?" She pulled the skirt on and looked down at herself.

"It's for your next mission, Agent Montgomery."

"Phil," Anita stood before the mirror and stared at her reflection. "This can't be right." She tuned to him and gestured to the outline of her bra.

"It's close enough for now." He took a step toward her tugging a short, wide tie out of his pocket. "We don't have time to make everything perfect- Captain Rogers is going to wake up very soon and you need to be in there when he does."

She narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for an explanation as looped the wool around her neck and knotted it.

"We've put him in a room where everything should be familiar, the smells, the sights and the sounds- it all looks like 1944."

"I beg your pardon?"

"There's no way to know what his mental state is like right now. He might wake up and remember going in the ice, he might not. You're going to be there to talk him down if he doesn't."

"Phil," She looked at him incredulously, "I'm not from the '40s.- I can't talk like I am. And don't know much- but I do know women didn't dress like this back then." She gestured back at her chest, where the cups of her bra were clearly visible through the starched cotton.

"Just memorize this." He ignored her and handed her a sheet of paper, "that's all you'll have to say."

She made a face at the words on the paper. "Somehow I don't think it'll be all that easy."

"Well, that's why we have you," He patted her shoulder and stepped back. "You know, trained agent and all that."

She shot him a look as pocketed the paper.

"Oh! And uh- here," he patted his pockets, looking for something, grinning when he found it. A tube of fire engine-red lipstick. "This should help."

She took it and held up up, "Should help with what?"

"You know," he gestured at her, "the whole effect."

She nodded slowly and turned back to the mirror, uncapping the lipstick.

"Anita, I need you to handle this." Coulson's voice was serious now. "I have to go to New Mexico now- something's come up." She looked at him in the reflection, narrowing her eyes at his uncertain expression. "I need to know you're going to take care of everything here."

Capping the lipstick, she gently dabbed her lips with a tissue and turned to him. "No need to worry, Agent Coulson." She stood before him, "I've been trained by the very best." She winked at him with a grin.

* * *

 **New York City, USA**

 **Captain Rogers' Recovery Room**

 **Present Day**

She crossed her legs and sat down, pulling a newspaper into her lap. _The Brooklyn Eagle,_ she raised an eyebrow and unfolded it. She'd been sitting here for the past hour and a half- determined to stay by the Captain's side until he woke up. At first, when Phil had shown her to the room, she'd thought she could wait outside and observe him until he actually began to wake. But then when she saw him, looking _exactly_ the same as he did in the 1940's newsreels- she dropped into a chair, stunned, and remained there. There was np apparent sign of aging or deterioration. Nothing to indicate that he'd been in the ice for 70 years.

The longer the sat there, the more her heart broke for him- Captain rogers was about to wake up in a new world. All his friends were be dead or dying and he was still a 25 year old man. Brooklyn looked nothing like it had 70 years ago- he might as well have crash-landed on an alien planet.

Grimacing behind the massive sheets of newsprint, Anita uncrossed her legs and crossed them the opposite way. Nope- the skirt was still damn itchy.

Although, she thought with a shrug, it probably would have been less uncomfortable if Phil had remembered the right undergarments- hose, garters and all. She smirked at the image of Phil walking into a lingerie store and asking for authentic 1940s undergarments.

An old vacuum tube radio played the background, loud, but not loud enough to drown out the sounds of 1940s New York City traffic. Everything had been perfectly curated, from the texture of the bedsheets to the yellow-tinged lightbulbs. And, of course, Anita- dressed as an SSR Officer.

The announcer's voice sounded tinny but still surprisingly loud as he narrated a Dodgers game with the same enthusiasm as anyone on ESPN. "Workman up for the Phillies, now. Holding that big club down at the end. He sets, Chipman pitches. Curveball, outside. Ball one."

The newspaper, on the other hand, was different from what she was used to seeing. No vitriolic political hit-pieces, and no color photographs. But the headlines were still as exaggerated as ever.

Anita folded the paper and set it aside as she heard movement from the bed.

She watched as his eyes flickered open- staying still to let him acclimate himself to the room. Hoping, praying, that this would go smoothly.

* * *

Steve slowly became aware of his surroundings. A radio played softly, not loud enough to cover the sounds of traffic outside. Everything about the room, the bed, the radio, his clothes, indicated that he'd somehow survived ditching Schmidt's plane in the North Atlantic.

But how could that be?

There had been three missiles on board- and he'd crash-landed in the ice. Had Peggy found him? He sat up and swung his bare feet to the worn, wooden floor.

"Good morning." A pretty, brunette SSR agent was seated in a chair by the door. She folded a copy of The Brooklyn Eagle and checked her watch.

"Or should I say, afternoon." She corrected herself with a good-natured smile as she stood up.

"I don't… remember going to sleep." Steve grimaced at his voice. It sounded rusty even to his ears.

"Well, it was quite a while ago." She crossed the room to pour him a glass of water.

He rubbed his hand over his face, trying to understand. What had happened to him? How was he still alive? _And where was Peggy?_

He eyed the radio, listening to the announcer.

"So the Dodgers are ahead eight to five. And Chipman knows one swing of the bat and this fella's capable of making it a brand new game."

Steve _knew_ this game. He remembered watching Chipman go up to bat.

He turned back to the agent, noting that her eyes were tracking his movements. She was alert. Too alert for his comfort.

"How long have I been out?" He asked- looking her over, head to toe. She looked wrong, Steve's eyes honed in on her bare legs- no hose. He looked back at her face and noted the way her hair was done, then his eyes darted down to her chest and the way her undergarments pressed against her blouse. In any other situation, he would have blushed and looked away, but he just couldn't. _She was all wrong._

"Outfield deep, round toward left, the infield overshifted."And the game being broadcast couldn't be live- so why was she pretending like it was- who was she?

"Captain Rogers?" Her voice cut over the broadcast as she gave a him a worried look, "Are you alright?"

"I'm gonna ask you again. Where am I?" He turned toward her, suspicion in his eyes and steel in his voice.

"I'm afraid I couldn't say-" Her response was smooth and even. If he hadn't been watching her carefully, he would have missed the way her posture straightened.

He was in front of her in less than a second, hands clamping around her upper arms in an iron-hard grip. He threw her up against a wall and leaned in, "Who are you? How do you know my name?"

At some point in the altercation, the glass had shattered, littering the ground with shards and a small puddle of water.

His grip tightened on her arms, "Where am I?"

As she opened her mouth to reply, the door slammed open behind him. Her gaze darted over his shoulder and in less than a second, the entire scene shifted.

Steve swung them around, throwing the imposter SSR agent in the direction of the door. She collided with a large man dressed in strange, black clothing and collapsed to the ground. The man stepped over her and toward Steve, pulling out a pair of handcuffs shouting his name.

"Get on your knees, Captain."

Steve turned toward him and charged, throwing his entire body weight against the other man, sending him crashing into the door. To Steve's shock, the impact send the door flying off its hinges, revealing a sleek metal and glass hallway- the complete opposite of the room he'd woken up in.

He glanced around quickly- the whole hospital room looked like part of a film set. Someone had staged this elaborate farce to make him think he was back in America. The Germans? HYDRA?

Steve didn't hesitate this time- he wasn't about to wait for his captors to send in men with guns to take him down. He took off at sprint- out the door and into a strange world.

Behind him, he heard the woman call out, "Captain Rogers, wait!"

Steve kept running- through the halls and into the street. It felt like he was trapped in a nightmare- people dressed in strange clothes; too many lights; too much noise. Just… too much of everything.

His eyes bounced off the large neon signs and strange moving posters mounted on shimmering glass buildings. He couldn't keep running forever, he had to find out where he was. Has to figure out how to get home. He skidded to a stop when several large, black vehicles circled around him, trapping him again.

"At ease, soldier!" The command gave his pause, he whipped around- looking for the man who'd issued the order. The man stood tall and straight, black eye-patch and black trench coat. No one else stepped out of the black vehicles- just a stand off between Steve and the man in black.

"Who are you?" Steve's voice shook, uncertainty clouding his brain.

"Colonel Fury, Director of SHIELD. You would have known us as the Special Scientific Reserve." This was the first familiar thing he'd heard since he woke up. A Colonel; the SSR- he knew those words. This man was giving him answers.

"Where am I?"

"Round about 34th and 5th." Fury nodded over Steve's shoulder. Steve glanced back and froze. The Empire State building, rose above them, glittering high above the bright lights of the City.

"Sorry about that little show back there. See, there's no precedent for what you've been through. We couldn't tell how delicate your mental state might be. We thought it best to break it to you slowly." Fury stepped forward and reached out a hand.

Steve took it hesitantly, "break what?"

"You've been asleep, Cap. For almost seventy years." Steve stopped breathing for a moment- This had to be a bad joke. Or a nightmare. The older man peered at him with concern. "You gonna be okay?"

"I…I should be dead."

* * *

Anita groaned and took Dr. Reed Maxwell's outstretched hand. As he helped her up, he updated her on the situation.

"Fury's got the Captain."

She nodded and glanced down at her outfit, wryly smiling, "Coulson's gonna be pissed that I got blood all over his favorite skirt."

The doctor chuckled and stuffed a wad of gauze into her palm, pressing her fingers around it to form a fist. The gauze quickly turned crimson, soaked with blood from the cut across her palm.

"Did this happen when he threw you at Harper?"

Anita shook her head and followed the doctor out of the fake hospital room. "No, it's from the glass I was holding. It shattered when he grabbed me."

"Alright, let's get some stitches in you." Dr. Maxwell held open the door to the well-equipped medical wing and let her in. "Hill and Fury want you upstairs as soon as possible."

* * *

 **Hello All!**

What do you think? Should I continue this or not?

 **As always, please review with any critiques, input or ideas about this story or any others!**

 **-M-**


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